I'm going to make her an offer she can't refuse
by Mooe'Szy
Summary: Set after Hogwarts battle (you guys have to read to figure out how much after). The Golden Girl is missing since then. The rest is history ;) Enjoy!


CHAPTER ONE - A state of suspended animation

Phyllis was statue-like. Talons clawed the headmistress´s chair leaving marks in the old carved wood. Sluggish yellow eyes follow the swishing movement of a grey quill along a roll of parchment, made by an invisible hand. The great horned owl screeched loudly, opening and closing its wings trying to avoid the hypnotical flow of the object. However, the empty office, was warm, due to the lovely afternoon of August. And so, it is that the cosiness settled, and the soothing sound of quill scratching parchment quickly caused a sleepy Phyllis.

Suddenly, a loud ´plop´, like a large bubble bursting, broke the tranquillity. The owl, fast asleep, didn´t budge an inch and kept on snoozing. Silently, an elf stepped towards the small staircase – that separated the office entrance from the humongous desk – holding, with an effort, a tray with a steamy pot of fresh tea, some china and a small plate of shortbread cookies. With duty fulfilled the tiny elf disappeared with a snap of fingers and another distinctive ´plop´. The honeyed lemon scent oozing from the open teapot ´s lid jerked the majestic bird from its slumber. Preparing to savour a treat the owl took off and with an amazing stealthiness, clasp a cookie using its beak and landed on a top shelf at the right of the office´s door.

" **Phyllis, behave if you please,"** a voice snap while the office door swung wide open. The owl hooted, pleased with its boldness, ignoring the almost demand of a request.

The witch entered the office in a hurry, wavering long purple robes.

" **Have no time to deal with mutiny right now"** muttered gruffly, pulling her wand out. With a swift, a silver cat with spectacle markings around the eyes emerged from the tip of the wand and landed gracefully on the wooden floor waiting for instructions.

" **Kingsley, I arrived, forgive me for the delay,"** the headmistress said, looking toward the Patronus. The cat swung its tail and turned toward the door vanishing to deliver the message. The witch passed anxiously around the office. _Trusting the word of Mundungus Fletcher was worthy of laughter, but on the other hand, Shacklebolt did ask to meet. For once the rumors could be true_.

The witch sat down behind the desk and tried to maintain her composure. With a second wand movement the open books spread all over de desk shut themselves and floated to their respective shelve, the quill stopped the scribbling and lay to rest inside the inkpot, and the parchment roll itself and, neatly, floated to a specific drawer of the desk.

 **"You certainly are far more organized than I ever was Minerva, the office is impeccable,"** said Dumbledore in a merrily way, glancing from its portrait to the actual headmistress.

" **Good afternoon Professor"** she automatically responded while cleaning the spectacle's lenses with a tissue. Doing it the Muggle way seemed to calm her.

" **Always helped clean space clean head so to speak"** added distracted with a sigh. _If only everything could be resolved with a bit of the old organization_.

Phyllis soared down from the shelve and settled, yet again, in the armchair sensing the distress oozing from its owner. The owl had barely landed when the fireplace burst in a garish green colour and spit out a black man dressed in elongated blue robes.

" **Pleasure to see you Minerva"** said the man with a deep voice while reaching his wand and pointing it to a hanger near the corner of the office.

" _ **Vera sella"**_ and the hanger grew short and hider until it fully reached an ornate sixteen´s century style chair.

" **Impeccable execution Kingsley"** the witch evaluated with a tired nod.

" **Old habits are hard to let go I see,"** said the men, stretching his features into a small smile. The wizard reached for the teapot and poured the content. Slowly he put one cup in front of the old professor, waiting, calculating, measuring exactly how to say what he had come to say – _there is no gentle way_ _to put it_.

 **"Don´t sugar-coat for me Minister, tell me is it true?"** demanded the headmistress in an eagerly and wounded way.

" **Yes, we found what seemed to be her refugee for some time, however, neither Madame Lestrange our Miss Gran-Granger were there"** he blurted in an unfashion and strange way for his current position as the head of the magical government.

McGonagall flinched like an invisible fist had clashed against her chest. **"The place was empty?"** _empty_. She repeated in a faint whisper to know on. Kingsley remained silent, nodding darkly, with sorrow plastered on his face. The portraits of former headmasters and headmistress behind them rose in exclamations of sad, anger and crying. Only Dumbledore remained in silence gazing the fall of the afternoon from his two-dimensional reality, a solitary and clear tear falling through his right cheek.

 **"Kingsley please… continue, at else did you reckon?"** the witch stammered gingerly, clenching a fist on the desk and breathing heavily. The man recovered his strong posture and sat at the edge of his sit, hands clasped on his crossed legs and with a calming tone he began talking.

 _In the first stages of hypothermia, the body will try to generate heat through shivering. When this fails it will decrease the flow of blood to the extremities. Metabolism slows to a crawl..._ **"You are dying, you just don´t know it, like a state of suspended animation."** murmured the blonde with a smirk.

The words from a random movie surfaced, unexpectedly, to her mind. A second shiver broke out from Fleur shoulders to the end of her back, exposed to the chilly air. The night was creeping on and the last wave of guests was starting to abandon the hotel rooftop. The French woman should do the same, but, instead, fished out the last cigarette of the package, brought it to her lips, light it with the tip of her finger, and took a long drag. Another custom that she had acquired, from living in the Muggle world., along with leather jackets, jeans, and sunglasses. It made her feel anonymous, gladly unimportant.

Fleur could still remember the looks of shock that she received the first time she yielded to the temptation and grabbed a smoke in front of her family.

 _Like smoking is going to kill me quicker than this congenital decease caused by… oh, wait unrequited love_. She smiled bitterly, at the thought. Indeed, it resembled remarkably like dying from hypothermia. Bit by bit, seeping into her flesh, bones, and organs until it's too late to do anything. She would, eventually, die of love. **"Not even unrequited love girly, she had to know first"** Fleur sight exhaling smoke through her nose. _I must find her first_.

The burning feeling of the smoke awoke her from the induced state of melancholy. She had a job to do. The woman stepped away from the handrail, took one last drag and crushed the cigarette with her hill, before apparating with a loud crack.

Before realizing she was being, carefully watched by a hooded figure.


End file.
